The Vaulted Blue
by ducksinthehat87
Summary: Victorian AU England, 1879. Of course Santana knew one of them would marry some day. She had just expected that day would be far, far away in time from where she stood. Far, far, far away.
1. Prologue

_May the 8th, 1877_

It was a truth universally acknowledged that rumours were served with tea in the presence of aunts in the Fabray household. Aunts visited so seldomly that Mrs. Fabray felt it was only polite to inform them of every little detail concerning her neighbours' lives, while Quinn fumed in polite silence on her chair.

Miss Quinn Fabray hated the tea and rumours ceremony. It always started out as a nice gathering, with cups clinking and tea flowing, and minor rumours running loose, and she had always humored them gracefully. But these little parties turned irritating soon enough, all of them. The one she was attending would not be an exception, and although she had begged her mother to let her stay in her room, saying she felt unwell, it had been all in vain. Her mother had been inflexible. So there she was, waiting for the conversation to reach the point she was dreading and eating all the biscuits as a preemptive vengeance.

"You shall never let me hear you complain again, Judy, dear," her aunt was saying. "If you think your neighbours are trying, you should live at the very heart of London like we do. The things one sees in those streets!"

"I warned you the country was the place to live, but you would have none of it," answered Mrs. Fabray. Quinn had three maternal aunts, but Mrs. Harrison was her mother's favorite by far, because she loved gossip, and her daughters weren't too pretty.

"I admit it, dear, you know I do, that the country is healthier, but I don't think a young lady should grow up so far from the social life in London. Your Quinn would be a sensation in the city, I just know it—she looks like an angel." She turned to Quinn, who smiled in silent thanks and reached for another biscuit.

"I like the life here, aunt. I have all the things I could ask for."

"You are such a sweet child, my dear. But I am sure you could do with some other girls around you. I know you already have a bosom friend, but at your age a woman needs friends, as many as she can find. How is Miss Pierce faring, by the way?"

And there it was. Quinn chewed on the biscuit with disgust, and for a moment she felt tempted to let her mother answer. But her pride made her gather her composure:

"Brittany is not my bosom friend anymore, aunt, although we are still on good terms."

Her aunt's fan snapped open. Only a minute now...

"Why! You two were close as sisters when you were younger!"

"Not anymore," repeated Quinn.

"Miss Pierce has another friend now," said Mrs. Fabray. And then added, with an extra serving of poison, "That Lopez girl."

And there it was. That-Lopez-girl was officially part of the conversation. The day was ruined.

When they started talking about that-Lopez-girl, the subject could go on for hours. Quinn hated it when her mother discussed it with their guests. She disliked their opinions, she disliked their prejudices, and she disliked that they hated the girl. Admittedly, she hated the girl, too, but at least she hated her for the right reasons.

She felt entitled to hate her, because the girl was the laughing stock of the whole neighborhood, and yet she had managed to steal her bossom friend, and how the shame weighed her down! It was bad enough that someone had taken Brittany away from her, but the fact that the thief was someone like Santana Lopez... Embarrassing. Mortally embarrassing. And of course, everybody knew. It was nearly impossible to keep a secret on the moors, even when it took a twelve minute ride on coach to visit the closest family.

There were seven families living on the moors, in old manor houses scattered all over the place. Old manor houses linked to old family names with lots of old money. Brittany and Quinn had been, for a long time, the only young ladies on the moors, and as such they had formed a close bond. A girl needs a good friend, her mother always said. A girl who can keep a close, pure friendship will be a loving, devoted wife. Quinn had to admit she had several questions about that line of logic, but she enjoyed Brittany's friendship all the same, and everybody congratulated them on their close, beautiful friendship. Lovely memories.

Of all the manor houses around the moors, the closest to the neighbour village stood on the top of a tiny hill. Quinn was not even sure if it could be referred to as a hill; it was more like a hopeful irregularity of the ground that could have been a hill with a couple of violent geographical accidents and a few thousand years. The manor house, ivy snaking everywhere, was as old as the rest, and Quinn supposed it had an equally respectable name, but given its situation the villagers had nicknamed it, in good spirits if not clear mockery, the Heights. And it had stuck. Not even her mother knew what the place was really called. And in the Heights lived Mr. Falchuk.

Mr. Falchuk had inherited the manor house from his father, and him from Mr. Falchuk's grandfather. Sadly, his prolonged career in the Colonies had prevented him from marrying and taking care of the family property properly, but he had finally returned to England a year ago. And he hadn't come alone. He had brought a Creole girl with him, dark-skinned and unable to pronounce the most basic words without rolling her r's in the back of her throat. Mr. Falchuk called her his pupil, his protegeé, a poor girl he had taken pity on, but it was plain for anybody with eyes that she was a child out of wedlock. She lived with him and enjoyed all possible comforts except for his family name. She still responded to her mother's, who was, Brittany had confided, dead. If someone were to ask the residents of the community—that is, the residents minus Brittany—they would firmly state that it was insulting to have the girl living in the Heights. She may not have adopted the family name, but were she to get married with a Englishman, she would inherit the Heights. And apparently, having a Creole bastard as a manor house owner was shocking at best.

Quinn was unable to understand what all the fuss was about. Yes, she was a Creole, and she had been born out of wedlock, but there were better reasons to hate her, like the fact that she was an insolent witch and that she had charmed her best friend's heart with her stories about the Colonies and her Spanish words and her absurd lack of manners.

And now, even though Quinn kept a good relationship with Brittany, it was plain that they were not as close as they used to be, while that-Lopez-girl walked all around the place with her, pinkies linked, laughing and sharing secrets.

And she had to bear the shame of retelling again and again how Brittany had chosen what was practically a wildling in silk skirts over her. Once and again.

"I am so sorry, my dear," her aunt was saying. "I lack words to express my horror! How do Miss Pierce's parents allow her to entertain such company? My poor child, you must feel absolutely devastated!"

Quinn did not even try to humor her overdramatic antics, but took yet one more biscuit and swallowed it with her pride.


	2. Early news

_April the 17th, 1879_

Santana was in her bedroom unfolding the newspaper when one of the new maids entered with a tiny silver tray. It wasn't easy, stealing the newspaper from her father's side after breakfast, but she attempted it every day and most times succeeded. The governess always said a young lady had no business reading a newspaper, and that had been enough to make Santana eager to read all the newspapers in England if possible. Santana and her governess shared a long, intense relationship that consisted basically on both of them trying to make each other's life hell.

She looked towards the tray; there was a little envelope on it. She arched an eyebrow.

"A visitor?" she asked before the maid had time to speak. "I am not expecting any visitors this morning, and it's not calling day."

"I am sorry, miss. Should I tell them to come back later?"

Santana fumbled with the envelope and took the calling card from it; she recognized it when it was only half way out.

"Allow her to come in. Tell her where I am; she knows the way."

"Yes, miss," said the girl, and hurried out.

Santana held the card between her fingers and smiled. It was one of those insanely elaborate ones, with flourishings around the name, that occupied the center, and a fancy scalloped border in pale pink; above the lower border, in smaller calligraphy, was written 'From a Faithful Friend'; in the bottom right corner, the dark silhouette of a songbird. Surprisingly enough, the penman had cards in the shop that surpassed that one by far in ornaments. Some of them had not even looked like cards. It had taken the best part of an hour to convince her friend that those cards were a sin against common sense, in front of the very annoyed clerk.

She knew the card very well, and had never needed to look at the name to identify it, but she looked at it every time, anyway. It was a beautiful name. It slided over her tongue in a lovely way: Brittany Susan Pierce. The whole card screamed Brittany Susan Pierce, particularly the pink scalloped border, and Santana loved it in a slightly terrifying way.

The proper thing to do with pink scalloped borders was laugh at them.

She had chosen the design for her calling cards the same day Brittany had. In fact, they had spent the day alone in the capital for the very purpose. Well, alone with the supervision of Brittany's governess, but Miss Pillsbury was a sensible woman and had kept a relative distance, so it had felt like they were alone. Her calling card was such a beautiful thing: white, rectangular, with her name in the middle. That was all, for the unsuspecting eye. It had a little trick on it, but without it -and most people never found it- it was the plainest of cards, and Santana was more than satisfied with it.

"Santana."

She looked up. She had been so engrossed in her memories and the unholy pink scalloped border that she had failed to hear Brittany's light steps on the corridor or notice her bright presence under the door frame. She smiled and left the card on the desk, but before she had time to stand up, Brittany had let herself fall on her lap in all her very clothed glory plus five underskirts.

"My darling," she whispered; words she had never used before Brittany, "you seem to be in such high spirits today."

"I am. Say hello."

"Hello."

"Hello." She kissed her. At her arrival in England, Santana had found it so peculiar that ladies would kiss their best friends on the lips at all times. A little peck, that was it, but it had looked strange to her eyes nonetheless. Now, nothing felt more natural.

Brittany moved back a little, but her forehead still pressed against Santana's. Their kisses always felt a little too long. She was sure there were no other friends like them in the whole world.

"You've been reading the news again."

Santana remembered the accusatory newspaper, neatly folded on behind her.

"To be precise, I _was going_to read the news when you appeared. I was expecting you in the afternoon."

"I know, but something happened, and I had to see you immediately!"

"Something good, I expect."

"Oh, very good!" She put her arms around Santana's shoulders and lowered her voice. "I wanted you to be the first to know."

"Then I will listen closely," she whispered back, smiling. Brittany's smile widened:

"He finally asked and Mother said yes."

Santana's smile melted into an expression of shock, and then of disgust. The breakfast was suddenly heavy in her; she felt the painful cramp of indigestion deep down in her stomach, bile rising.

"That's all very well," she said, pushing Brittany off her lap a little harshly; she needed to stand up and open a window. Brittany simply stood there, dejected.

"Are you alright? You look like you did that time you started yelling at Quinn in Spanish."

"I said it is all very well, didn't I?" She had opened the window and was leaning against the wall, looking at the tree tops, sharp against the grey sky. She did not want to look at Brittany, but she could hear the hurt and anger in her friend's voice all the same:

"What is wrong? You know I have been waiting for this to happen..."

"Have you?"

"Well, yes! I just secured my future. I thought you would be happy!"

"Happy?" She turned, incredulous. "And why the devil should I be happy? Because you are going to be wed to an Irish farmer boy in silk?"

"We have discussed this, Santana. You may not like him..."

"I can barely understand him when he speaks!"

"...but he is a good person, and his family owns lands..."

"In Ireland! And you don't know if he is a good person. You don't know him, Brittany."

"My parents approved it; that's enough for me," she said quietly.

"Well, maybe it shouldn't be."

"Why are you acting like this all of a sudden? You knew he was courting me, and you never said anything of the sort!"

Santana crossed her arms and looked at her feet, silent. Brittany was looking at her; she could feel her eyes weighing her down. She was so enraged that she felt her limbs would explode if she did not fling a chair, but she stayed in a sort of burning silence and clenched her teeth.

"You were supposed to be happy for me," said Brittany. "I came as soon as I... never mind." Her voice was soft again; she had never been capable of violent anger. Instead, her spirits settled down in a state of resolved chagrin. "Alright, then."

And she left, leaving the invisible trail of her clean scent in Santana's bedroom. She wanted to call her back, but she could not speak; she knew she would say things she didn't mean, so she stayed frozen in the middle of the room watching Brittany leave and imagining several of her possessions flying against the walls. But she didn't do it, not even when she heard the horses' light steps on the front yard and the wheels rolling over the dry leaves, taking Brittany back home. Not even then. It was what they expected from her, that her foul mixed blood would make her wild, that it would lead her to insanity. And although her blood did feel like it was boiling inside her, she bit her tongue and looked at nothing, waiting for her hot fury to subside on its own until she felt her lips quiver and, looking outside her bedroom first to be sure that no maids were close by, she allowed herself to cry.

Brittany, engaged! And to that Irish half-man who always looked far too happy in Santana's opinion. The very idea was revolting. She knew it would happen sooner or later, of course. Even if she found etiquette confusing and was not the smartest girl around, Brittany was beautiful, sweet and accomplished in many areas, and it also helped that her hand included a respectable amount of money and, eventually, the family's manor house. Of course she knew she would marry some day. She had just expected that day would be far, far away in time from where she stood. Far, far, far away.

* * *

Santana walked around her bedroom like a caged animal for good part of the afternoon until she looked through the window and saw her father in the front yard. Gathering all the patience she had, which was not much, she waited until Mr. Falchuk arrived, settled in the parlor and finished checking the mail. Her governess was knitting in front of him when she stood awkwardly before him with a resolved expression.

"What would you want, Santana?" he asked before she could decide upon an opening argument.

"I am going over to Longbrook Park, father," she said, firmly but respectfully, crossing her arms in what it started like obvious defiance, but ended up as a soft gesture; she did not want to risk her father's disapproval. Not today.

"What!" The governess looked up from her needlework. "When did you decide such thing?"

"Early this afternoon."

"And why did you not ask me for permission?"

"Because you would never give it."

Mr. Falchuk laughed, gesturing for his employee not to answer. "You can't deny her logic. But why should I, pray, give my permission? It's long past the hour for visits."

"Please, I had an argument with Brittany this morning..."

He smiled and busied himself with the notebook on his lap. Santana had her mother's temper and the manners of a childhood in the Colonies, where she had been raised far from the English uptight etiquette. She didn't care about social meetings, balls or dinners, and although she held her reputation dear, she had no intentions of changing her ways to preserve it. But it had always been different with the eldest of the Pierce daughters. Mr. Falchuk had always found himself half in awe and half amused at Santana's attempts to keep the most basic civilities toward her while all but hissing at the rest of their neighbours.

"I see," he said. "You know I approve heartily of your friendship with Miss Pierce. You may go and make amends."

Santana's face lit up, but she did not smile. It was a a rare sight, his daughter's smile.

"Excuse me, sir! I don't think it advisable that Santana should visit Longbrook today! As you may remember, the Pierces are holding an afternoon tea tomorrow, and I am sure an unexpected visitor would be an unnecessary bother. And of course, I am thinking about Miss Lopez's safety, too. Going all the way to Longbrook at this time... it will be dark soon."

"Well, of course..." started Mr. Falchuk, frowning.

That woman was resolved to ruin her life, Santana was sure. Her sole purpose in life was advising her father against everything she ever wanted. But she would have her way this time, no matter what. She was resolved to get things done that same afternoon, while her rage still burned and its accompanying sense of reckless bravery. If she didn't get to see her soon she knew her resolve would melt down and never come back.

No. For good or for ill, she would do it today.

She did not lose her nerve and spoke in collected calm, even as she longed to grab her governess by the neck: "Please, father, I don't think I will be able to sleep one minute tonight if I can't ask for her forgiveness."

Mr. Falchuk looked at her for a long, long moment, and finally sighed:

"What can I say, then? I wouldn't want to let this rare show of affection go to waste. I will give word to have the coach ready as soon as possible."

"No, please. I will walk. I need to think."

* * *

After convincing her father that she would be at Longbrook before sunset and that the Pierces would not let her go the way back alone in the dark, Santana returned to her bedroom to pick a shawl and left the Heights full of intention. As she walked down the ridiculously low hill, she eyed the flowers that bordered the path. She moved toward a little cluster of white flowers and stretched her hand, but as her fingers brushed the white petals she moved them back again, wondering if she should take them. She did not know the name of the flowers, let alone the meaning they held. She had learned through tedious lessons with her governess upon her arrival in the country that young ladies in England prided themselves on their knowledge of flowers and their meanings. In giving flowers, one had to pay attention not only to the colors and shapes, but also to the meaning of each, to convey an appropriate message. Some flowers had meanings that little had to do with love, friendship, or any of the feelings Santana thought one should feel for anyone you gave flowers to.

It was a good summary of the the reasons why Santana had so many problems with her new country of residence: she was living in a society where you could insult someone accidentally by giving them flowers.

Carefully, she picked one of the white flowers, and then a second, and a third, and kept walking down the path. A little later she stopped and picked a frail looking purple flower and added it to the bunch; as she walked around the Hudsons' property she stopped once more to collect a new variety. When she felt satisfied with the substantial bouquet, she took the silk ribbon that held her unruly hair and tied it around the stems, holding them together.

No girl would be seen with her hair untied around the moors, but Santana did not care about such things. She had grown up with her hair loose and her feet bare at home, and thinking flowers were beautiful no matter what kind composed the bouquet. Only heaven knew what was the supposed message of the one she had put together, but she did not mind, and she was sure nor would Brittany. She always had trouble remembering the meanings. She cared so little about manners, was so natural and sweet. It was endearing, watching her trying to remember all the conventions and formalities, and knowing she saw you when her eyes met yours, really saw you; not your last name, or your connections, or your fortune. The real you.

Santana had always been a little ashamed of her real self, but it felt a little better, a little brighter, when it was Brittany watching.


	3. Longbrook Park

Everything in the Pierces' was being dusted, shone, polished or shaken. Brittany could hear the bustle from her room in the second floor; it was upsetting her pets.

Her mother was downstairs, organizing. She was a woman that organized. Brittany always thought that right after mother and wife, that was the most accurate description of her mother's occupation. She organized. She organized the servants, she organized the visits, she organized the meals, the way her daughters dressed, the furniture, the flowers in the garden and a long etcetera. She had been taught to be a lady, and being a lady, as far as Brittany understood, required lots of Organizing, a skill her little sister had inherited but she herself had not. So while things were organized by Mrs. Pierce and Miss Nora Pierce, she had been advised to stay away from the dusting, the shining, the polishing and the shaking, and keep herself busy trying on her new dresses and deciding which one she would wear for the tea.

So far she had taken the one she was wearing off and then curled up on her bed surrounded by frilly skirts and embroidered corsets in her drawers and chemise.

There was a frantic rush of wings. She rolled on her back to see the little bird shifting nervously in its swing inside the huge golden cage. It had been a birthday present from Santana, after they had picked their calling cards together for the first time, and Brittany loved it, for it was part of their silly little secret. She had called the bird Santana, ignoring her friend's protests. It was like Santana in many ways: it was beautiful, it grew restless with loud noises and only sang in Brittany's presence.

"Your father won't be happy about this," Quinn had said when she saw the bird, and she had been right. But Brittany loved it, and as much as Mr. Pierce disliked Santana and everything that came from the Heights, he was unable to take the bird away from her.

"And why a bird, anyway? The cat will try to get to him as soon as you leave the room." Quinn was eyeing the cage, puzzled.

"No, he will not!" she had said with a smile. "It's a bird because of my calling card, and because of our secret."

"You can hardly call it a secret when everybody can see it."

"But so few people do..." she had murmured, holding one of Santana's cards above her eye, against the light pouring from the window. Quinn was looking, too, as one of the blank corners suddenly filled with the silhouette of the same songbird in Brittany's card.

"For God's sake, what were you two thinking about?" Quinn had said almost in a whisper, shaking her head softly. "Only married people and sweethearts get matching cards."

Remembering Quinn's words made her smile still then, nested among the many dresses.

"I am sorry to interrupt, miss. There's a lady come to visit."

Brittany pushed herself up and sat on the bed, conscious of the mess her hair had turned into as she rolled around in clothing. Brittany recognized the maid, but she was unable to remember her name. It was one of the kitchen maids; there was surely some glorious Organizing going on, if the kitchen maids were sent to announce visits.

"Is it Miss Quinn Fabray?"

"No, miss. A Miss Lopez, I understood. Do you need help with the clothing, miss?" offered the girl, radiating uneasiness. Every kitchen maid longed to be a chambermaid some day. It was some mystical creature, the chambermaid. They didn't have to scratch and hurt their hands cleaning floors and skinning eels by candlelight when they were still alive; in fact, taking care of their hands and looks was practically a requisite for the job. But getting there was one thing, and dressing a lady for the first time when your hands still smelled like raw meat was another.

"Don't worry" said Brittany to the girl's relief, who practically disappeared as she leapt from the bed.

When Santana knocked on the open door she had piled the dresses on a chair and was trying to tame her hair clumsily. She had had no time to hide the vase full of red roses her mother had placed by her window, the ones Mister Flanagan had given her when he had proposed.

They stood still for a moment, looking at each other.

"Are those I-am-sorry flowers?" said Brittany finally.

"Well, they are for me and I hope they are for you too."

Brittany accepted them, trying not to smile. "That was really fast. It usually takes you a few days."

"This time is different. To ask for your forgiveness is not the only reason why I am here today."

"But are you sorry?"

"I am very sorry I was far from kind to you when you had done so much to have me know the news before everybody else." Brittany smiled. Santana's words formed slowly in her mouth, and she was too polite; there was something she wanted to say, and she was trying to approach the moment as cautiously as possible. "And I am very sorry I did not try to understand your joy and share it."

"And sorry to call Mister Flanagan all those mean things?"

Santana sighed deeply. "If you don't want me to lie to you, you may want to avoid questions like that one."

Brittany had tried her best, but it was time to give up; her smile grew wide as she turned to sit on her bed, smelling the irregular bouquet.

"Of course you are forgiven. But I still don't understand why you would act like that."

"That is the other reason why I needed to talk to you. There is something I need to tell you so you undertand what I said and the way I said it."

"Very well," nodded Brittany, her face the kind of blank only cats could achieve. Santana took a deep breath. She had tried several scenarios in her mind while she walked to Longbrook, but none of them had Brittany in her underclothing and furniture being moved in the room right beneath them.

But they were somehow alone, weren't they? They were always alone and unnoticed, as long as they did not interfere with the world around them. The house was full of activity, but no one paid them any attention, and she was standing in front of Brittany, who was sitting on the bed and looking up at her, flowers nested on her lap...

"Brittany, since you told me you had found a possible... candidate to get married, I have been thinking. A lot. And I realized that I have a lot of feelings I had not paid sufficient attention to before. Feelings for you, that I was afraid of dealing with, and I thought I could just... pretend they were not there, but the situation has changed. Do you understand what I am trying to say?"

Brittany shook her head softly.

"No, not really."

"I want to be with you. Not just like friends. I really want to be with you all the time and for as long as you will want me. I thought I could just... I don't know, I thought we could be the closest of friends forever, and it was enough. But it won't be the same if you get married, if we have to grow up and... I just have to tell you now, before everything else happens. I love you."

"I love you too," said Brittany, looking more confused than ever. "You know I do, I have told you a million times before."

"I am not talking about the kind of love friends have. I love you, and I would not want to get married if I were summoned to do so at this very second to Samuel, or Finn, or any other stupid gentleman. I just want you. And... please, say you love me back." Santana felt the silence ring in her ears, surprised at how vehemently the words had leapt out. Brittany's eyes were full of surprise. "Do my words repel you?"

"Of course they don't! I do love you back, I thought you knew that! Not just as friends, I love you more than I have ever loved anyone," she said, pulling the flowers a little closer. "Do you think I did not know? You are like a second nature to me, Santana. I never know I am missing something until I am by your side and feel different, complete. You are like a part of me I never knew I had."

For a moment, Santana was speechless. None of the scenarios in her head had turned out to be as easy and complicated at the same time; she, however, decided to hold on to Brittany's words, with both hands if possible.

"But how can you not understand that I felt furious when you told me about your engagement?"

"I thought you would be as happy as I was! I am doing it for you and for Nora."

"For me! What...?"

"Mother says you will never get married," Brittany interrupted. "What if something bad happens to your father? What if he gets sick, or has an accident? You will have no place to stay, the Heights won't be your home anymore. And what if Nora can't get married? I will be the heiress of the Pierce state as soon as I'm wed, but what will she do? This is what sisters do, you know it. So I am doing it for Nora, and I will do it for you."

"Are you telling me you are forcing yourself to marry that little scoundrel?"

"No, no I am not. He is the best chance I will get. He is sweet to me, and even if you don't like him, I think he is a good person. He has relations, and lands, and a good annual rent." She smiled. "You know how it is. My father works all day, and sometimes spends several nights out. My mother barely sees him at all, but she wants for nothing. We will be together all the time, like we are now. That is how I want things to be, and you know it is the best way. The only way."

"There is always another way," she insisted, but both she and Brittany knew she was saying so because she was unable to accept there were things that could not be changed, as hard as you kicked and resisted.

"If there is, I will be glad to take it with you," said Brittany softly. "But while we find it, this will have to do, don't you think?"

Santana clenched her teeth and accepted her defeat as the giant ball of lard Brittany called her cat entered the room. She grabbed him and passed it to her owner before it started clawing the lacing of her boots.

"Very well." She handed the cat to Brittany. "I will do as you wish. I promise I will not try to act against the engagement in any way."

"Why should you?" smiled he friend leaving her pet on the bed by her side. "It will be as if we were wed."

"You are very sure he will not object to having me in his home as a permanent guest."

"He can't! You are my dear friend, he knows it. And these things happen all the time, why should he say otherwise?"

"Because I am not your sister," she said, smiling back. It felt like she had been sourly disappointed, something bothering her inside the chest, like the feeling of having left something undone and not remembering what it was. But she barely paid it any attention. Dealing with the relief of still having Brittany and, even more, knowing she shared her feelings, was light enough to forget every little shadow, for now.

"You are more than a sister."

Brittany reached for her shoulders and pulled her down, close to her face. They kissed as they always did, but they did not move back as fast. Brittany's fingers were curled around Santana's shoulders, and she was holding Brittany's wrists. We've locked ourselves, Brittany thought, pressing her mouth harder against her friend's. Her friend? She was not sure about the way she should call her now, but all the little voices in her head, who usually disagreed about mostly everything, called a truce and decided there would be time later to think about it, once she was fully dressed and not doing something so distracting.

"Excuse me, miss."

The lock dissolved as they broke the kiss, turning to the maid. Santana moved a couple of steps away from the bed and tried to look composed.

"Dinner will be served in half an hour, miss," said the girl. She looked far from surprised.

"Thank you," said Brittany finally. The girl disappeared towards the corridor. Of course, thought Santana. We kiss all the time. How would she know this was different from the usual ones? But it had felt different, and Brittany's face was flustered. They shared a little smile.

"You should start getting dressed, Britt. And I should be on my way if I want to be back before if gets too dark."

"Why don't you stay the night? You can get ready for the tea with me tomorrow. Just send a note over to the Heights to have your dress here in the morning."

"Well, I don't know, your mother doesn't like having me around that much..."

"She won't even notice! She's too happy, organizing everything and telling everybody her daughter is marrying before the Fabray's. She is really pleased about that."

"And I bet Mrs. Fabray is enraged in equal proportion. And I don't understand a thing. But if that distracts your mother enough to have me spend the night with no objections, blessed be. I am going downstairs to have that message sent. Oh my, my governess will be furious."

"The idea improves with every new detail."

"Doesn't it?" sang Santana, leaving the room with a little victory dance. Brittany laughed and ran to the door, to watch her disappear in a corner. She went back inside; she was still holding the flowers. With a smile, she took the red roses out of the vase and filled it with Santana's bouquet.

"Brittany, what are you doing still in your drawers?"

She turned back and pointed at the pile of dresses on her chair.

"I was trying those on for tomorrow."

"Which one will you keep?" asked Miss Pillsbury, returning the dresses to the wardrobe and sorting them by color with brisk moves.

"I don't know. I haven't tried them all yet."

"How many, then?"

"None."

The governess looked at her for a second and then sighed.

"You have to decide before going to bed or your mother will be cross with us both."

"I promise!"

Miss Pillsbury noticed the vase and frowned.

"Who gave you flowers, and why do they wish you consolation?"

"They don't!"

"Ah," said Miss Pillsbury, helping Brittany into her underskirts, "so Miss Lopez paid you a visit."

* * *

"San."

Brittany waited for an answer, but there was none. The room was too dark to see if she was sleeping, but it certainly sounded like she was, and in their current position it was a little complicated seeing her face anyway. She had let Santana hug her from behind because she refused to accept she was smaller and as such, a better candidate to be hugged. Santana rarely spent the night at Longbrook, but the same situation had repeated itself once and again every time Brittany stayed at the Heights. The woman was stubborn beyond any logic.

"San," she called, a little louder, using her own body to give her a few pushes.

"Mmm? What?" came the sleepy voice over her shoulder.

"Do you think us being special friends now is a sin?" she whispered.

"Does it feel like one to you?"

"I don't know how a sin is supposed to feel."

Santana grunted and moved a little behind her, but she did not remove the arm around her waist.

"Well, it's supposed to feel bad. When you know you are doing something wrong, you just know it."

"Like feeling guilty?"

"Sí. And besides," she paused to yawn, "we have been kissing each other for years, I don't see why it should be a sin all of a sudden."

"But we are like sweethearts now, right? So maybe... well, other things will happen, right?"

She was almost able to hear Santana's hesitation.

"I suppose," she whispered after a moment. "If you would care for them."

"I have been thinking about it," said Brittany, which caused Santana to very nearly burst into tears, laughter or both. "But I don't know how it's done. I don't even know if it can be done."

"I'm sure it can be done."

"I am almost sure, too. I get some ideas, you know, when I think about you. Do you get ideas, too?"

Santana fought her throat to finally say: "Some."

The darkness hung, thick, over them. Brittany thought she felt the arm around her waist pulling her closer.

"But there must be a way to know what one should do."

"It's not like we can ask someone. You are not thinking about asking anyone, are you?"

"Of course not, but there must be a way. It's probably in books. Everything is in books."

"But we don't know where that book is, if it exists at all, and that leads to us having to ask someone, so we have the same problem all over again."

"But do you really want to find out? Don't you think it's strange at all?"

"Not at all."

Brittany seemed content. They kissed goodnight for the second time and spent a few minutes pressing against each other as close as their bodies would go, trying to sleep and getting some ideas.


	4. Sunny days

_April the 18th, 1879_

Because they lived in the countryside, and there was never enough entertainment for news like an engagement to go amiss, every one of the guests in Longbrook for the afternoon tea knew about Brittany and Mister Flanagan. Of course, most of them would pretend ignorance, just so their lovely hostess could tell them. And Mrs. Pierce knew that everybody was doing that, but that was life in the moors for you, wasn't it? thought Santana, sitting alone and watching her neighbours form little groups and talk politely before disbanding and forming different little groups. Too many people to have a regular tea party, too many people to greet and be civil with, so she might as well ignore everybody. Santana Lopez believed in equality when it came to despising people; everybody should get their share. Her father was absent, probably at work. Flanagan was absent too, God bless.

Brittany had to talk to everybody, of course. She had assured her while they helped each other dress that she would be just fine finding a spot close to the cake, and Brittany could go around the room and forget she was even present. After protesting she would not do such thing, for she would be close to the cake after all, Brittany hugged her, and Santana didn't press herself unnecessarily against her, oh dear me, no.

She got herself another slice of cake -she had kept her promise, of course- and thought about the wedding. Everybody congratulated Brittany and wished her happiness. No one concerned themselves about her feelings, or Flanagan's. In England, it seemed, only fools and artists thought about love. Love belonged to novels and plays, and songs. Marriage was something you did and built your feelings around, and you tried to make love grow out of it, if you gave a tinker's fart about it, as it was not really necessary. You got your proper ground first, then tried to make it work. If love happened in the wrong place, you simply ignored it or went back to it every now and then to keep it in line. Was it sensible, fighting against everyone and everything and trying to keep the little thing alive, even hiding it from everybody? Brittany had thought about everything, apparently. And her words made sense, didn't they?

As Mrs. Hudson hugged Brittany, she momentarily dreaded her future. She would be a weight on her shoulders for as long as she lived, the spinster living off of her friends' charity. No, not if she could help it. Mrs. Pierce had been quick to assume marriage was beyond her possibilities. It wouldn't be something big, of course. She had always known that if she were to marry, she'd have a humble wedding, doubly so, being Creole and a bastard. In a little church, for sure, with a modest man and barely any guests at all. Would it be terrible to be flexible for once and consider looking for a husband? Living under the same roof with Brittany was a tempting idea, but was it a fair one?

She ignored Finn Hudson, who had taken the chair by hers and was fumbling with one of his shiny boots. Many women took lovers, after all. It was only practical, since half the time they did not care for their husbands, or the husbands for them. She could be Brittany's... what? Lover? Mistress? She stuffed her mouth with cake and chased away the thoughts. After their short discussion the night before, every passing thought even remotely related to the subject of physical intimacy got her flustered; these thoughts were so intense that she was afraid other people would guess them just by looking at her.

"...should congratulate you, too."

Santana turned to look at Finn, who was smiling towards her and had apparently been talking about something.

"Congratulate me? What for, again?"

"Miss Pierce's wedding, of course. You are close as sisters, you must be sharing her happiness a great deal."

"Oh, of course, yes. Thank you." She watched as he stood up, hands clasped behind his back smartly, looking as satisfied as someone could, eyes on the other guests that moved in the room.

"A wedding is such a happy occasion."

"One would only expect."

"Do you know that song, Miss Lopez, that says going to a wedding brings on another?"

"I don't think I do."

"Well, perhaps it holds some truth," he said, his smile growing wide. Santana followed where his eyes were fixed; Quinn, in a dashing green dress, was standing right on the very spot, talking to Mr. Evans. She turned to Finn again, who bowed his head.

"I should go and congratulate the bride to be. If you will excuse me."

Before she had time to react, Finn had walked away. What had just happened? And shouldn't Quinn be by her side, trying to make her life miserable? Any time now would be suitable, really. As if moved by her scalding thoughts, Quinn finished her conversation with Mr. Evans and headed towards her.

"Shouldn't you be in your room, ripping your clothes apart in mourning?" she asked as way of greeting, sitting by her side.

"I don't know what you could possibly mean," said Santana, choosing to ignore she had very nearly done that just the day before.

"I'm glad to see you are being sensible about it. Mr. Flanagan is an excellent match."

"He is not a good match for himself, least for another human being."

"Oh, please."

"Last week he came to visit her."

"And?"

"Walking. He walked all the way to Longbrook."

"A devoted man."

"Devoted? I hear he enjoys a very generous annual rent, and he can't come visit her future wife in a proper coach?"

"If he had done so, you would be now pestering me about his pretentiousness. And had he not come, I would be now presented with the many proofs of his carelessness."

"Ha! Saving me from the sight of him would be a kindness. I would never complain about it."

Quinn sighed. She was such a difficult one.

"My point is that you will never like anything he does. You will keep going at every detail until you poison her mind, and she calls off the engagement."

"You will be happy to hear that I promised Brittany that I wouldn't do anything against him or to prevent the happy union."

"That story seems suspicious."

"You can question her on the matter if you wish; you will find I do not lie."

"I am sorry to say this again, but I think you would not be resigned to have her wed and move on and away from you so graciously. Were you resigned to lose her, your customary look into Brittany's décolletage would have been one of longing sadness, not of awe like the one I saw not twenty minutes ago."

"You have such a way with words, Quinn, but you are a fool if you think you can make me feel embarrassed with that. I have been looking into it for months; the little decorum I had burned within the first weeks."

"You are without shame."

"I have confessed it."

"This suspicious promise will be investigated. What a shock it will be, if I find out you are a decent person after all."

"Yes, have your laugh now. I am letting you enjoy yourself, because I have something to tell you, and you will laugh no more."

"What is it?"

"Finn Hudson was just talking to me a minute ago."

"I saw him, yes."

"And he, trying to be mysterious and failing I presume, suggested that maybe another wedding will take place soon. Looking at you. Intently. And no mistake."

"Are you quite mad? My father would give my hand to a chimney sweeper before having me married to him."

"I am sorry to say this, but everybody knows your father is unwell, Quinn... and I've heard your mother say she would be glad to see the mining business finished."

Quinn's shoulders lowered almost imperceptibly. The Hudsons and the Fabrays were engaged in what everybody called a healthy rivalry in the mining business and Sanatana called a lot of unnecessary fuss. The late Mr. Hudson and Mr. Fabray had been competing for years to dig up more coal, sell more, make more money. Legend had it, and Quinn had confirmed it, that Mr. Hudson tried to convince her father to arrange the wedding of their children when they were not even a year old. Their lands were side by side, and a union between the two families would finally end their differences and join both business into one.

Mr. Fabray had refused, of course. He held the female part of the hypothetical happy union, so once married, everything would be owned by the Hudsons. It was always quite the problem, holding the female side of the marriage.

Now Mr. Hudson was dead, and Quinn's father was expected to join him soon unless a miracle happened, and miracles were always scarce. And while Finn had always tried to follow in his father's footsteps, Mrs. Fabray knew nothing of the mining business. Santana fumed silently; it really was just the best of times for Hudson to make a move, the sly snake.

"I guess it is not the worst choice I could make."

"Quinn! What are you talking about? You are not seriously considering..."

"Why not? I am sure Mother would not care, and it would finally put an end to all that ridiculous quarrel."

"So you are going to marry him just so you can stop a stupid fight you did not even start?"

"Well, someone has to. And it would also mean I would be settled and without any worries about my future life."

"And," said Santana, looking around to make sure no one had approached them, "I thought you were expecting Evans to be the one to start courting you."

"I am not sure what Samuel wants. He keeps ambushing me every time I go for a walk or when I'm coming back from church. I swear he is always 'accidentally' standing in every path I take. And he is a very sweet man, but for all he seems to be waiting past every tree and wall I walk by in the whole country, he has never made his intentions clear or talked about us in any way... I can't wait around and see if he is going to do something about it or not, especially if Finn intends to propose."

"But you don't even like him! And he would only marry you so he can have your father's business!"

Quinn sighed and looked at her, her expression blank.

"That is what we do, Santana. This is what we all do. You think you can do whatever you want, but the day will come when you will find that all the warnings I gave you were not just to annoy you. Do you think you can choose to ignore the way things are and everything will be just fine?" She shook her head and stood up, turning to Santana before moving away. "We would all do as we liked, if things were that simple. Think about it."

* * *

_April the 21st, 1879_

When England was as generous as to provide a perfect sunny day, it was only natural to stop meeting in each other's room to kiss and go outside to find a spot secluded enough to keep doing it outdoors.

They had met after breakfast for what was technically a walk, even if the walking only happened when there was nothing to lean or sit against. An hour after leaving their homes, they were kissing under the tree they had immediately gravitated towards after they had managed to stop kissing against a moss-covered wall of ancient stones. Brittany was unable to remember if they had said something after the customary exchange of good mornings. They had chosen to keep away from the main paths without saying a word about it. She couldn't stop smiling.

"Are you cold?" were the first words Santana uttered, trapped between Brrittany and the tree, as she ran her hands up the girl's arms. Brittany shook her head:

"I am fine," she whispered, even though there was no one else in sight.

"This stupid breeze is freezing..."

"I am fine," she repeated and closed Santana's mouth, much to the latter's content.

More often than not, Brittany forgot to take a shawl when they went for a walk. Santana, on the other hand, was wearing the one Brittany had knit for her, the only reminder of the time she had tried to take a liking to needlework. Now, Santana thought needlework was actively pernicious and kept herself away from it, but Brittany had decided to try it about a year ago. The shawl was a disgrace but Santana would have crawled over broken glass before telling her, and she wore it everytime she could.

Fortunately, her beloved had lost interest in knitting pretty fast, like she had lost interest in the china set her parents had got her to start using it with her friends. Santana had got one too, at her arrival in England. Brittany had secured hers in a cupboard, afraid of breaking it after some pretty close calls, a fate Santana's set was too late to avoid; the thing had been smashed to pieces in an accident involving an exceptionally complicated and unlikely chain of events.

"We should find the main path," murmured Santana against her mouth. "I am not sure where we are."

Brittany looked around:

"I think I do. We are not far from Evenwood."

"Can we go around the back of it?"

"Don't you want to see if Quinn is home?"

"No, no, I'd rather keep you for my eyes only on this beautiful morning."

"Now, don't come the poet with me," she laughed, offering her pinky. Santana hooked hers around it and followed her steps.

"We'll meet her later for service, anyway."

"I suppose. Here, mind your step," she warned, pointing at the many roots surfacing over the ground.

Showing a great deal of control, they only stopped three times, ignoring many a tree, before the familiar shape of Evenwood was visible among the leaves. Brittany had been right; it was soon evident that they were approaching one of the building's sides. Her outstanding orientations skills were clearly reason for celebration, so they allowed themselves another stop. However, they had barely started when they heard voices not too far from where they stood. There was probably not a soul in the moors that had not seen them kiss at some point, but the kisses felt different now, new and worth hiding. They looked at each other for a second and followed the sound.

As soon as they emerged from among the most dense group of trees, they spotted the source. Samuel Evans and his footman Puck were talking right by the house, under the low branches of a chestnut tree. The former was dressed with the greatest formality, in white trousers and shirt, dark vest and long coat. As it looked, he was even wearing a cravat. They were not close enough to understand what the young men were saying but stood in mystified silence as Samuel gestured for Puck to kneel down and the other shook his head and pointed up with both hands. After a few moments of confusing gestures and antics, the footman threw his arms up in surrender and lowered himself down on one knee. He linked his fingers in front of him as one forming a step, and Samuel placed one foot on it. They saw the figures trying to coordinate with some kind of countdown and then they tried to propel Samuel into the air, who flew up and grabbed a branch.

Still puzzled, they watched as the branch bent and broke with a loud cracking noise and Samuel found himself back in the ground, this time on his ass. After a moment, Brittany murmured, "Why would they want to do that?"

Santana looked at her, trying to decide if she was joking. "No, darling, I don't think that's what they were trying to do."

"Oh." Brittany tilted her head. "Should we ask them, then?"

"I think that is a capital idea."

When the boys noticed their presence it was too late for them to abscond, but their faces showed they wished they could. Samuel donned a smile and stepped towards them, probably remembering that it was better not to look guilty if you were going to go with the always useful 'this is not what you think'.

"Miss Lopez, miss Pierce," he bowed her head briefly. "Good morning."

"Not very good for you unless you explain yourself and fast, because a dirtier mind than mine could think you were trying to make your way into Quinn's bedroom," Santana smiled back.

"Oh, that? A practical joke, nothing else! I give you my word, I had no ill intentions, you see. No harm intended, none, not at all, am I right, Puck?"

"Not at all, sir."

"So you were going to her room for fun?" asked Brittany, deadpan.

"Yes... I mean, no. Well, I was, but not that kind of fun!" Behind him, Puck rolled his eyes.

"What kind of fun, say?"

"That's that, sir, our number's up, don't be making a mug of yourself any longer," grunted the footman. "I told you, with that huge speaker you have, you should have given her a shout."

To any footman in the surrounding areas and possibly the whole country, talking like that to his master meant he was going to find himself unemployed the next minute, but everybody knew Samuel held Puck as a good friend, not only a valet. Their births had taken place in the same house and were only separated by weeks, and since their son was prone to melancholy when he was alone, the Evans had allowed him to play with Cook's boy. When he had been fifteen, he would have no one else as his footman. For that reason, Sam only gave Puck a nasty look instead of firing him.

"Well, yes, I just wanted to see her, just trying to talk to her! I did not want to call because I thought I would be a bother to Mrs. Fabray, being so worried about her husband as she is," he said. "May I ask for your discretion?"

"Don't worry, Mister Evans, we will keep your secret," promised Brittany before Santana could find an entertaining way to make him suffer a little longer.

"You have my most sincere thanks. I will return the favor with pleasure, whenever you require something from me."

"We should go now," Santana linked pinkies with Brittany. "Try not to climb any more windows, sir."

"Especially the one you are standing right below," murmured Brittany, "because Quinn's is that other one, to the left."

Sam blushed violently and Puck put a hand over his eyes.

"I just... how silly of me. I... say, are you going to see her now? Would you give her something from me? Puck, there's a package in the coach, fetch it, please."

"That won't be necessary, we are not going to call," said Santana to Puck, who was already marching towards the main path.

"You can give it to her yourself if you wish," added Brittany. "She will join us for the first service this afternoon."

"I can't thank you enough, I will be there. Say, you think Mrs. Fabray will be with her?"

"You are unable to say something that won't get you into trouble if someone were to hear you."

"I just... no, you are right, please forgive me once more."

"Yes, we better get on our way before we exhaust our ability to overhear."

"Have a good day, sir!" Brittany waved to him.

"He has gone completely mad!" said Santana when they had walked away. "Only God knows what would have happened if he had climbed through the wrong window!"

"And it was strange."

"What part of the whole act of strangeness are we talking about now?"

"He had a package for Quinn, but he had left it in the coach."

"I had not even noticed that one bit, with all the stupidity floating around them," she said. "But it does sound strange, now that you mention it."

"He is a funny boy. They both are," said Brittany, fondly.

"Indeed. But enough of this boy talk. We need to find ourselves another wall or tree, and soon."


	5. The afternoon service

Everytime she went to church, Santana wondered who could she had possibly wronged to deserve such a thing. Going to church, especially for the afternoon service, was merely a show, like everything else in that place. People were too distracted watching who sat by whom, and what were others wearing to pay any attention to the actual thing, which was not necessarily wrong, because Reverend Evans could go on for years when he was preaching.

To make things even worse, Santana had been thinking. She had been thinking for too long and still a fog of confusion clouded her mind. She lived surrounded by clowns, and as much as she tried to ignore them, she was unable to let them to their own devices, for she knew they would be all ruined in a fortnight. She knew there would trouble with Finn Hudson, Samuel Evans and Quinn, but she did not know how exactly it would happen, and it made her nervous. She knew there were things, things she could not name, about to happen. And oh, good God, why, Flanagan had come to service too. Thankfully, they were late; no time for greetings.

She sat between Quinn and Brittany in the most private corner they were able to procure, wrapped in Brittany's shawl. Quinn had been giving her intense looks since she had arrived. Really intense. She had something to tell her, and there was a zero percent chance she was going to like it. So she waited until the praying began and turned to Brittany, who was asleep, as it usually happened in church. She had her eyes closed, and her chin rested softly on her breast; Santana put her hands together over the little Bible carefully. Brittany was one of the most pious young girls of the place, everybody said.

"What?" she muttered towards Quinn.

"I've talked to Brittany. When you told me you would not try to stop the wedding, you forgot to mention you two had made plans to be... together, after it happened, anyway."

"Can't a woman keep a little mystery about herself?" she whispered.

"I knew you were plotting something, Santana, I just knew it. You are going to drag her into a scandal."

"Everybody gets into scandals around here. Wearing a red dress is a scandal, using the wrong fork is a scandal. Not getting into one requires far more skill than I will ever have."

"I don't get involved in any scandals!"

"Don't make me laugh; you chose a black chambermaid," she murmured, looking over the area where the servants sat. Quinn took her chambermaid everywhere, because her mother was unable to leave the house in her father's condition and she could not go around alone and unchaperoned, not when she was a Fabray. It had been subject to many discussions that a proper girl like her would pick a black woman to handle her family old jewellry and have access to her bedroom. She had not even been trained to be a chambermaid; Quinn had picked her when the woman was still a kitchen maid.

"And you, of all people, are going to tell me I did wrong?"

"Of course I won't do such thing, but it was a scandal all the same, you getting a foreign kitchen maid to be your personal help."

"Mercedes is more of an Englishwoman than me, and certainly more than you. She was born in London."

"I know, but other people do not, and they are all stupid."

"Lower your voice! You are going to get us in..."

"A scandal?"

Quinn shook her head and did not answer, exasperated. Santana made sure Brittany was still asleep and turned back again.

"Look, Quinn, I don't give a tinker's cuss about scandals. We want to do this, and no one has to know. She was the one to come up with the whole thing, if you must know. We both want it in the same measure."

"But it is your fault, you encourage her."

"Then it is England's fault, because it encouraged me first. Until I arrived I had never seen ladies kissing each other's mouths in the middle of the street."

"Yes, blame England on your extravagant appetites."

"Extravagant appetites? What have you been reading again?"

Quinn felt her face burning with shame and looked around to see if anyone had heard.

"That is... not... of your business..." she answered, the words crawling between clenched teeth. She gave a start when Santana grabbed her forearm:

"No! That's it! You read those books all the time!" she told Quinn in an excited whisper.

"Will you stop talking right now? We are in church, for the love of...!"

"You can read them but you can't talk about them in church?"

"I am not comfortable talking about them anywhere, but I have to admit a full church during service beats most options! And I do believe I asked you politely to never mention it to me again that you knew about my books." The fact that she kept a voluminous collection of the kind of books that were put together in basements was something Quinn had tried to keep a secret, but when you shared secrets with Brittany you had to expect the occasional accident.

Santana leaned even closer:

"Do you own, perchance, one of those books but only about women?"

Quinn looked at her in incredulous horror and checked twice around them to see if anyone was looking at them before answering:

"Are you asking me to help you defile her?"

"You say it like I am asking you to assist me during the actual defiling. I am only wondering if you had a book I could borrow."

"I do not, of course I do not!"

"But they exist, am I right?"

"How would I know?"

"Don't act so holy, we are talking about your extensive erotic collection. Don't you look around when you buy those? You have to know what they have around in that sorts of places."

"I don't buy them; someone bought them for me..."

"Who did? I will ask them."

"...Mercedes. She is an old friend of the owners."

"Please don't tell me you made her your chambermaid because she was the one providing you with you slightly hilarious vices."

"No! Of course not. Everybody in the service made fun of her because she says she will be famous someday, and Cook would not do anything about it. So I made her my chambermaid, and now she outranks them all. And I am glad I did, she makes great conversation and has a fine eye for fashion."

"Is there going to be a but in all this praise?"

"But she bought me the books when she went to London with Cook, so now she can't get me the books anymore."

"I will ask her where the bookshop is, then."

"There are so many reasons why you can't go to that place."

"I will see to those in time," she said and spent the rest of the service in a most unchristian silence, wishing calamities upon Flanagan's head.

* * *

"Miss Pierce!"

As people started walking back home or got into their coaches, Brittany, Santana and Quinn had reunited with Mercedes, who was looking at Santana's shawl with a strange expression. However, before they could get on their way back home together as they were supposed to, Flanagan approached them.

"Good afternoon, sir," greeted Brittany, looking happier than Santana would have liked.

"I trust you are in good health," he said with a big smile. Then he turned to Santana and Quinn, as though suddenly recalling they were there. "Good day, Miss Lopez. And you must be Miss Fabray."

"Miss Quinn Fabray. Miss Fabray is three-and-twenty and about to get married."

"Oh... please, do excuse me, I did not know you had a sister," he murmured, blushing. It took every ounce of willpower in Santana's body not to roll her eyes.

"A reasonable mistake," offered Quinn.

"Should we go?" asked Santana, all scorn and uneven stitches. His presence stirred all kinds of unpleasant feelings within her, and she longed to be well away from him. For a few instants she tried to enjoy the superiority Brittany had assured her was hers; it was with her that she wanted to share her life, not with him. But the thought did nothing for her save for leaving a sour feeling in her chest.

"Actually, Mrs. Pierce sent me to ask you if you would be so kind as to join me on the way back home, always in her company, of course. So if I could claim her company for once, ladies, I would be much grateful."

Brittany looked at her mother, who stood at the other side of the churchyard looking in their direction. Santana fumed in silence. He might as well have come with a written command from the Queen of England, what were all those 'if you please' and 'if you would be so kind'? Mrs. Pierce had spoken, so it would be done as she wished.

Lord, did she hate etiquette.

With a brief kiss, Brittany walked away from them and towards her mother while Santana followed Quinn and her maid, a little crestfallen.

"Come," called Quinn. "Stop moping like a lovelorn schoolgirl, at least until we are out of sight. And you better gather your wits and ask me whatever you wish to know about the books now. I won't be part of this madness longer than strictly necessary; you have exactly the lenght of the path from here and until we reach the Heights to get your information."

"The only thing I need is the address."

"Really? And what are you going to do with the address? Go there in your father's carriage, so your coach can tell him you have been visiting London without telling him? Set foot on the very street, a woman alone, so you can be conveniently robbed and God knows what else?"

"Are you sending me to St. Giles?"

"No, but I am not sending you to Mayfair, either."

"Closer to St. Giles than Mayfair, I'd say," chimed in Mercedes. Santana gestured towards her and turned to Quinn:

"Didn't she use to sneak on your Cook and go in there alone, to get your books?"

"If you will excuse me, miss," said the maid. "I was born in London, I know how to move and what to do when I'm in the streets. You will need modest clothing and a man by your side to be safe, and best be one that looks like he has his smarts about him."

Santana rolled her eyes. She made a start to ask them if they would divulge the address once and for all were she able to produce a carriage and a coachman she could trust and solve the matter of the safety, but before she could finish Samuel Evans materialized on their path, complete with accompanying footman, in one of his awkward attempts at courting. He was wearing the same clothes Brittany and she had seen him in that very afternoon and was holding the parcel he had mentioned; it was clearly a book, wrapped with brown paper and string. After exchanging greetings and extending a very polite offering to walk the path with them, he handed it to Quinn with a smile:

"Because I understand you are interested in modern science."

Santana, who did not give a damn about modern science, slowed down and let Sam and Quinn move forward, trying to join Mercedes, who was walking a few steps behind them. And so was Puck.

She fumed in silence, walking alone between the two pairs, unable to approach Mercedes and ask her about the address but afraid to catch up with her friends in case an opportunity would rise. That rotten book was giving her so many problems, and she did not even know if it existed yet. She heard Puck whisper and tried to catch his words over the cracking of the brown paper:

"Did you think about it?"

"The answer is still no."

"Come on, 'Cedes! You can't be serious! Say yes, I am handing you the opportunity of your life, and you are so stubborn you won't take it. Woman, you are crazy!"

"I don't need no man to come rescue me, Puck, there's your answer."

"Santana, look!" She blinked; Quinn had turned around to show her the book over her shoulder. Bound in green leather and engraved in the corners, the title in silver letters shone: _On the Origin of Species_.

"Thank you, Mister Evans," said Quinn. "It must have cost you great efforts to deliver this to me. I know both our families would ask for our heads if the knew of this transaction."

"It was worth it, as it served as an excuse to walk with you, my dear friend. But it was not nearly as complicated as you think. I got it in London and brought it back under my cloak without any difficulties."

"In London? During one of your mysterious daily visits to the capital, no doubt."

"Nothing mysterious about them, I assure you. I am just trying to make my way in this world, on my own."

"How very modern of you," said Quinn. Santana was unable to decide if her words carried some irony.

"But it was my uncle who procured the book after I told him a friend was interested in Mister Darwin's essays. He is an enthusiastic supporter of the evolutionist theory."

Santana kept their pace silently through the walk, wrapped in Brittany's shawl and dark thoughts, speaking only when spoken to, thinking about blonde hair and sweet, liquid blue eyes while waiting for an opportunity to obtain the bookshop address. The idea of Flanagan walking by Brittany's side, maybe offering her a arm to rest on or making her laugh as she trod over wet leaves and soft earth tormented her. But that was a fiance's right and, some may say, a fiance's duty, too.

Much of the talk between Sam and Quinn was about his uncle, who lived in London and as far as Santana understood was some kind of exalted scientist who had been all but banished from the Evans family due to his lack of religious faith. He seemed to dote on Sam, however, and the boy talked about him with affection and admiration. Samuel was a 'modern man', indeed. He usually expressed his interest in science, and his daily visits to London kept him well informed in the lastest advances in matters such as photography and electricity.

"I have nothing against traditions, but we should not let them chain us, slow down our march to progress, don't you think so?" he was saying, hands clasped smartly behind his back as he walked.

Seven hells, thought Santana, if Quinn marries Hudson, I could even try my chances with this one. It was not a bad idea. Maybe all that talk of progress and modern life meant he would give his wife liberties no other women could aspire to. Maybe she could find the security Brittany was trying to get her and live in a comfortable agreement of polite separation.

As the path to the Heights came to its end, every possible solution Santana had thought of involved at least Brittany or her getting married; that or getting Brittany married and then killing her husband, leaving her a wealthy and free widow with a very good friend to take care of her. But even Santana knew that last one would be frowned upon by their neighbours.

In front of them the path divided. The main road kept moving among the trees, stone walls and fences; a narrower path snaked its way to the little hill where the Heights sat.

"May I walk you home, Miss Lopez?" asked Sam.

"That won't be necessary. Please, continue your walk. But..." She looked at Mercedes. The woman didn't miss a second to answer:

"If it pleases you and Miss Quinn, I will have a note delivered this evening with the address of the seamstress you wanted."

"But be sure you get the message as soon as it comes," said Quinn with a smile. "Your father would be less than pleased to learn you spend money on those kinds of dresses."

"I must confess I am particular in my sartorial tastes, but how could I not, knowing how much this dress is going to please me?"

She bid farewell to a frowning Quinn and the rest of the party and headed for the Heights. She had the address. Now, for the rest of preparations.

* * *

Every letter, note and message Santana sent her started the same. As Brittany broke the wax seal, she already knew the words she'd find sitting on top of the page. Santana's tongue was sweet enough when she wanted it to be, but sweet words did not come naturally to her. She had chosen her three words long ago and used them whenever she wrote to her:

"_My better half,  
__  
I missed you during our walk back home, but I was not idle. I now know of a place where we could find our book, but it seems reaching the wretched thing will be little less than a quest. We will require some external help, as much as I'd rather find a way to keep it just between us. I will speak to Evans tomorrow and remind him he owes us a favor; we will find out soon enough if he is a man of word. Successsful or not, I will go back to you with the news, and we shall make our arrangements._

_But you must tell me now: Are you still decided to get the book? If you think the risk is too high, I will understand. If you are decided, the book, if it exists, will be ours as soon as possible."_

Brittany searched over the chaotic desk for a piece of blank paper; unable to find one, she settled for one with a recipe scribbled over it.

_"In haste. Flanagan and Quinn over for dinner. The risks are not important, let us get the book. We can talk undisturbed tomorrow; I will take the bow if the weather allows._

_PS. I missed you too. Counted the trees and spots where we kissed as Mother and Rory talked about Ireland."_

She folded the paper and lit a candle, cheering on the little flame as it blinked. She should be downstairs by now, trying to be a good hostess with her mother. The wax bar melted slowly, so she cheered on it, too, as it dripped over the letter. Once the letter was sealed, she blew the candle out, threw the wax bar over her desk and flew out of the room. In the hall, she put the letter in the hand of the boy who had delivered Santana's, thanked him and ran to the living room. Her mother was not pleased to see her flushed and arriving last. She tried to ignore her accusing look and sat on the couch by Quinn. They were all entertained in conversation; she sighed.

She was really curious about the book. On one hand, if the thing existed it would mean the world was even more full of mysteries than she believed; she had a notion that sex was something that happened after marriage, and thanks to a few enlightning conversations she had overheard from the kitchen maids she had grasped the basic mechanics of it. It would be expected from her to perform with her future husband, and yet the whole thing was unspeakable. The general idea was that he would know what to do. So what was she to think of a kind of sex that involved not a single 'he'? Who would know what to do, then? On the other hand, she doubted any book could give her any new ideas. She already had so many. They would come to her at night and force her to kick the blankets off her and drink cold water.

The book was also an excellent distraction for Santana. She knew Santana very well. In certain respects she was just the opposite of Brittany, whose mind drifted away into daydream as soon as she stopped focusing. No, Santana's mind was merciless: Once it bit into something it would not let it go. Santana would not stop until they had the book, which was much better than having her thinking about a way to secure a future together without one of them marrying. Brittany had decided keeping Santana distracted until the wedding was the best course of action. If she let her be, Santana would think about their problem until her wits fried, because there was no other way.

She may not be the sharpest girl in the neighbourhood, but Brittany knew a problem when she saw one and knew Santana, too. When dinner was announced she took the arm Rory offered her with a smile. She wished the wedding could happen sooner. It would take some time, but the sooner she got married, the sooner she could start showing Santana nothing was different.

She sat on the table and left her gloves by the forks, looking at them sourly. So many of them, as was fit for a formal dinner. Her fingers hoovered over the silver. She stole a look in Quinn's direction, who noticed and made a great show of taking the first one at the left. Brittany smiled.

Since Brittany's father was in London for the week, Mrs. Pierce occupied the seat at the head of the table and tried to keep her two guests entertained. Flanagan was easy enough to please, as he seemed to find everything perfect, and Quinn was too polite to let her smile falter. Mrs. Pierce had always been torn in her opinions of the girl. When she and Brittany were inseparable, Mrs. Pierce had resented it. Brittany was a beautiful young lady, but she was too tall, and her love for physical activities had given strenght to her arms and put freckles all over her nose and shoulders. Her hands were always ruined by scratches and chewed nails. Quinn, on the other hand, never forgot her place. Like her sister before her, she had grown up the perfect lady and spent her spare time playing the pianoforte, working on her needlework and drawing. She was beautiful and devoted, and her family name was older than the Pierces. No, having the two walk together everywhere did no favors to her daughter.

But she liked the girl well enough, especially now that Brittany was engaged, and Quinn's replacement in her life was half a savage. She tried to steer the conversation away from Santana Lopez, but as she did in life, the girl always managed to be present in her conversations, too.

"Ah, Miss Lopez," said Mister Flanagan when he heard her name mentioned. "I met the young lady today. She did not look well, I think, like she was severely irritated."

"That's how she always looks," murmured Miss Quinn.

"A trait of her kin, one supposes. They are not fit for civilized society, women from the Colonies. I always say she would be happier if she went back to her people, where she belongs," said Mrs. Pierce. "But Brittany is such a kind soul, and so is Miss Quinn. They will not leave the poor thing alone. It's the Christian thing to do."

"I am sure they are having a very positive influence on her," he said with a hesitant smile.

"Father says Creoles have unnatural yearnings," announced Brittany's sister.

"Nora! That is no proper talk at the table."

The girl lowered her eyes: "I'm sorry, Mother. I don't know what a yearning is."

Brittany looked at her, deadpan: "Nor do I."

Quinn had to bit her lip to prevent a smile as Mrs. Pierce looked at her daughters in silent mortification and Mister Flanagan appeared to be suddenly interested in his food.

When the dinner was over and a polite amount of time had passed, Quinn thanked her hostess and summoned Mercedes, who was only glad to live the Pierce's kitchen and never come back, to go get her coach ready. Brittany walked with her to the front door after the goodbyes and good wishes for Mister Fabray's health had ended.

"Clouds are gathering," noticed Quinn when they stepped outside. She put her gloves on as she looked at the sky. "No more sun for us. Such a pity, it's been a lovely week."

"I wanted to take the bow tomorrow," Brittany pouted.

"Clouds have never stopped you before."

"It's harder when it's dark."

They stood side by side, looking up in the chill night, silent for a moment. The carriage awaited at the end of the front path, with Mercedes standing by the door and the footman lowering the metallic step. Quinn turned to Brittany, whose hair was almost silver under the darkened moon.

"You already know about Santana's plan about the book?" asked Quinn, lowering her voice. She was still far enough from the carriage, but too close to the front door.

"She told you?"

"She did. I wish you would put an end to it. It's madness, and you can't afford that sort of risk."

"It will keep her distracted. And we really could use a little help with our... thing."

"Distracted? Distracted from what?"

"From the wedding. She keeps trying to find a way so we can be together without me getting married. I just want the wedding to be over so she can get used to it and understand I did the best that could be done."

"It is the best that can be done, but you are a fool if you think she'll understand. What will happen when you get heavy with child? Do you think she'll understand, then? She will lose her mind."

"I don't know..."

"Yes, you do. You could have stayed a spinster, lived with another woman and found some job in a charity or a shop, and got away with it, if she was a different woman. But you don't stand a chance with her. People whisper scandalous things. You heard your sister, everybody thinks she's unnatural. One mistake and you will be in great trouble, both of you. If you don't marry, they will say she corrupted you ,and that will be your undoing; and if you do get married, she will do something stupid, as she always does when she is furious, and you two will be done for. You can't win, Brittany."

"We will find a way! There has to be a way. And you will help us, won't you?"

Quinn took Brittany's face between her hands and kissed her lips.

"Sister I called you once, and your sister I will be forever. If you ask me for help, I will always try my best to give it to you. But make no mistake." She looked into Brittany's eyes, still holding her face. "If you two fall, I will not fall with you. A reputation is all I have, and I will not compromise it. And if you are wise, you will do the same with yours."

"We will find a way," she repeated. Quinn stepped back and gave Brittany's hand a squeeze.

"I really hope you do," she said before walking away from her and to her coach. Brittany watched her climb into it and Mercedes after her; she watched the coach leave the front door and disappear into the night, too. Only then did she turn around and walk into the house. _There is always a way_, she told herself as she headed upstairs towards her bedroom. _ I have to be smart, just this one time. There is always a way. _


	6. One grey morning

_April the 22nd, 1879_

The day dawned dark and turned a dirty shade of grey by mid-morning. The lamps would be burning all day long, the sun hidden behind a thick wall of clouds, but there was no smell of rain in the air, and Santana had a mission. She started early and took her shawl, and before nine she was walking along the brook that divided the neighbourhood. It looked mild enough, but she had heard rumours of people drowning in it. Treacherous and double-faced like the rest of the country, she thought as she approached Greenbank, the Evans' manor house.

She could see Longbrook Park from there, in the distance. That was to be her second stop, after she had negotiated with Samuel. She was taking a calling card from her skirt's pocket when she spotted Puck sitting on the fence and chewing a blade of wheatgrass. He heard her steps and jumped on his foot, spitting the wheatgrass and adopting a diligent air.

"Good morning, Miss Lopez. Can I help you, miss?"

"That you can. I need to talk to Mister Samuel Evans."

"He will be here in a minute. We were about to leave for London," he said.

"I will wait for him, then, if you have no objections," said Santana in a tone that suggested she would stay, objections or not. "If he can spare a minute, I will be quick about it."

"Of course, miss."

She walked to the fence and leaned on it. If Evans cooperated she would need Puck in her plan too, so she decided she might as well try to be civil towards the footman. She cleared her throat.

"I hope you won't hold it against me, but I noticed you were discussing with Fabray's chambermaid yesterday."

He went pale. "Miss?"

"Please, there's nothing to worry about, you were perfectly discreet. I understand your job takes all your time, and there's only given occasions to talk to her. I won't tell your master if that's what scared you so badly, but I don't see why would he be cross at you for having taken interest in a lady. It's only natural, after all," she said, uncomfortable. Brittany had always been more skilled than her in these matters. Now she had scared the boy and didn't know what to make of that rant.

Fortunately, Puck looked at her in an obvious state of confusion, but then smiled, relieved.

"No, miss, no need to be making no oaths. Mister Samuel knows everything about my conversations with Mercedes."

"Well, you looked terrified a minute ago."

"You know, miss, some ladies and their sensibilities. A man can never know if he offends someone by taking some liberties and talking to another lady's maid, you see."

She looked at him, suspicious. She was not very sure if his logic made any sense. She decided to take it, for the sake of her bonding intentions.

"A pity she refused you. You seemed very taken with her."

"Eh... Yes, I guess I am, miss."

"I hope you and Mercedes can reach an agreement."

"She's one stubborn slavey, she is."

"Don't use that word," Sam was walking towards them, buttoning the cuffs of his shirt.

"That is what you call them maids, sir."

"That is what you call 'them maids' if you don't have an education."

"No problem here, sir, I don't have one of those fancy things."

Sam sighed and turned to Santana.

"Good morning, Miss Lopez. What a pleasant surprise."

"I understand you are in a hurry, but a word, sir, if you will."

"But of course. We can spare a few minutes. Puck, leave us alone, please."

"No need for that," said Santana. Both men looked at her. She felt her thoughs whirl up in her head. But there was no way to be careful. She would have to say some compromising things, like it or not. She started, choosing her words with care:

"Yesterday you told Miss Pierce and me you owed us a favor and that you would be happy to assist us if we ever needed you."

"I intend to keep my word," he smiled. "But I must confess I didn't expect to return it so soon. Tell me what you need, Miss Lopez, and if it is in my hand, it is done."

Here it comes, thought Santana embracing the shawl around her to give herself courage.

"Your footman," she looked at Puck and nodded, "drives you to London almost every day, and I've heard he knows the city well enough. Miss Pierce and I need to visit the capital, a particular street. My family must never know, nor hers."

"Ah, a secret trip to the capital. Very interesting. Like you said, Puck drives me to London almost daily. You can pick a day at your convenience and join me. We will leave you wherever you are going to."

"No, I am afraid that will not do. I don't want to seem imposing, but it has to be Miss Pierce and I alone. We shall tend to our business as quickly as possible, and then we need to be brought back immediately, before any of our relatives notice we are gone. It's almost two hours to get to London, if I remember, and the same to come back. We cannot linger a minute more than necessary."

Samuel folded his arms over his chest and looked at Puck. Santana held her breath. Finally, the boy nodded and looked back at her.

"You will have it your way, Miss Lopez. If Puck knows the place, he will take you both ladies there and then get you back in Longbrook or the Heights as soon as he can manage."

"Yes," he said, looking a little bewildered, "I will, but where are we going? I don't know every sodding street in London."

"Puck! Language."

"Don't worry about me, please. I grew up speaking Spanish, he'd cry himself to sleep if he heard all the curses I've learnt in my life."

Puck laughed; Samuel smiled, looking at his chain watch:

"I am afraid we will need to leave soon. Where is this street you need to visit, Miss Lopez?"

Santana had fed the message with the address to the fire the night before, deciding it would be cautious to do so. She had memorized it with the utmost care and repeated the name of the street for Samuel and Puck, but she didn't mention the number of the building. They would be driven to the very street, but she intended to keep their purpose a secret.

"Do you know the place, Puck?"

"I do, sir. I don't like it, beg your pardon, but I have to say it. Close enough to Seven Dials to make a man nervous. But if that's the job, I can make it."

"Very well. It's settled, then. Anything else?"

"Actually..."

"Yes?"

"I will need clothes."

"Clothes?" he frowned. "I don't understand."

Santana sighed.

* * *

Brittany felt the muscles in her arm tensing with the bow as she took aim carefully. The grass whispered around her in the white and grey world the day had grown into. She had chosen a stripped blue and white dress with ample sleeves to allow her arms room to shoot comfortably, but now that she could feel the cool breeze sneak under the fabric all the way up to her shoulders she started to think she had chosen poorly. At least braiding her hair had been a good idea; she was having enough trouble concentrating without her hair getting in the way. Still holding the arrow in place she moved back an inch; she was wearing a belt with her quiver hanging by her hip and the arrows _click_ed together whenever she shifted. She had spent a restless night; focusing on the target made her temples pulse.

"You can do it, Britt," came her sister's voice from some spot behind her. Nora and Miss Pillsbury always took the garden table to go through the young Pierce's lessons when Brittany took the bow. The governess shushed Nora and asked her to repeat all the European capitals. Brittany lowered the bow, trying to concentrate. She had been thinking about Quinn's words for good part of the night, left the bed and sat in one of her chairs facing the window, knees against her chest and wrapped in a blanket. She had lit a candle and tried to write in her diary, but hid it away when Lord Tubbington waddled into the bedroom. She had gone back to bed with the cat by her feet and, after much turning this way and the other, she finally fell asleep.

She took a deep breath and aimed again. She shot an arrow, then another, three, five. She frowned; all five arrows had hit the wooden target, but none was even close to the white mark in the middle.

"My word, that was terrible."

Santana walked towards her, stopping briefly to greet Nora and Miss Pillsbury in a dark red dress and the shawl Brittany had once knit her. The dress was old and plain, but it clung to her body in such a natural and almost violent way, as the elements of a storm fit together. Brittany tried to look calm and collected while she smiled and kissed Santana's lips. The intensity of her feelings terrified her, but she had to pretend normality for her sister and Miss Pillsbury, who were close by, and for Santana, who did not need any more encouragement to fan her temper. Her better half she called her, and Brittany would try to be. She would see to it that Santana was always occupied and content until the wedding was over, and that meant toning down her own impulses. Sudden shows of unbridled affection lit Santana's mind faster than anything else.

"Is something the matter?" asked Santana as they walked to the target to retrieve the arrows. "Those arrows look like you shot them in your sleep."

"You are not far from it. I barely got any rest last night. I spoke to Quinn before she left..."

"She scared you with her tales of lost reputations and fallen women, didn't she?"

"She's just worried about us."

"No, she is worried about you, which I would appreciate if it didn't mean that she is trying to hold us back from our plans."

"We don't have any plans," she smiled.

"Well, I do have a plan. What if I got married? I could find a husband. There must be a thousand men in London who would marry a mixed race woman just to have a house like the Heights under their name. That's something we could do, then you wouldn't have to get married. It's another way, see?"

"That is not another way, it's the same way, only you'll be the one marrying instead of me. I have a wedding secured, so I'll be the one doing it." She grabbed the shaft of an arrow and pulled it from the painted wood. "Besides, your marriage wouldn't last a fortnight, my sweet. You can't stand taking orders from your father and your governess, how would you even accept them from a stranger?"

"Maybe it doesn't have to be a stranger. Maybe I could find a man who understood my situation, maybe one with modern views..."

"If you can find a man like that before the wedding and call him your fiancé we shall discuss this matter again, but now forget about it," she said lowering her voice and placing a hand on Santana's cheek. "Now, please tell me about the book; your words were so confident in last night's message."

For an instant, Santana looked as if she would protest, but after a brief hesitation she tilted her head softly, pressing her cheek against Brittany's hand and said, "Very well."

Santana told her about the day before, when they had parted after the afternoon service; about how she had thought they could find the sort of book they needed in the same bookshop Quinn bought her warm literature from; about the way back home, where she had tried to get the address from Quinn's maid and about Samuel Evans and his footman, and Puck's discussion with Mercedes and the content of the mysterious package Samuel had for Quinn. Brittany had no interest whatsoever in reading _On the Origin of Species_and only had a very general idea of what it was about, but she remembered her mother had promised punishments aplenty if she or Nora tried to get their hands on a copy.

"I finally got the address sent to me, but apparently that was only half the way. We can't use my coach or your carriage to get to London without our families knowing, so I asked Evans to have Puck drive us there. He was happy to help, but we need to choose a day carefully and let him know the date with a few days warning."

"That's brilliant!"

"Not so fast, there's still one more thing. As it is only natural, the bookshop is located in a questionable area of London. Quinn and Mercedes advised me to wear clothes as modest as possible, and they agreed we would be a lot safer in the company of a man. I was going to ask Puck to walk us to the very door of the damned place but I don't want him, or anyone for that matter, to know the reason of our little trip."

"So?"

"So I asked Samuel to let me borrow some male clothing. I will dress up as the man we need, we will go into that street and into that bookshop, buy the thing, and then we will leave London as if nothing had ever happened." Santana snapped her fingers. "In like a lion, out like a lamb."

They looked at each other for a long moment, silent. Brittany squinted her eyes.

"What? What is it?" asked Santana.

"You are going to dress up as a man."

"That's right."

"I don't think I like this plan."

"Why not? It's perfectly innocent, and I'll change back as soon as we get the book."

"But why is it you dressing up as a man? Why not me?"

"Is that your problem with the plan? Really? I am going to do the talking and, in case it's needed, the threatening, so I will be the one passing for a man. Besides, it's not like you could pretend to be one with that face."

"But you are tiny."

"Not all men are tall, you know."

"I am taller than you. And stronger. I want to try male clothes, when will I ever get another chance?"

"Darling..." Santana sighed and stole a look in Miss Pillsbury's direction; she was busy with her pupil. "There is going to be no time to make an experience out of it, we will just be... in and out. That's all. And Samuel is already looking for clothes that fit me."

"Very well, then," she conceeded.

"All we need is the day. We'll say we are going to spend the day together. We will leave early, with the sun, and pray to be back before lunch so nobody will miss us."

Brittany nodded. Unecessary risks, Quinn would call them. But she liked taking risks with Santana. She couldn't help but feel the world would bend the knee before them whenever they worked together. She was in love, and the world was at her feet. Everything would work out just as planned.

She still thought Santana would make a poor boy, though.

"A week from today?" she said at last.

"Next Tuesday," Santana nodded. "I will let Samuel know with a message."

"No need, I am having dinner at Greenbank tomorrow. I will tell him myself."

"Excellent."

Santana offered her pinky with a bright smile. Brittany linked hers in its crook and felt the familiar embrace of the corset tightening around her, sure sign that her breathing pace had quickened. She left the last arrow in the quiver, and they walked back, hands swinging softly between them.


	7. Note of the author

As you may have noticed, 'The Vaulted Blue' is not updating at the moment. I didn't give up on the project, in fact, the whole story was fully planned from the very beginning. Sadly I won't be able to update until the second week of September, when the updating pace should be back at one chapter per week. This warning will be of course deleted and edited into chapter 7.

Thank you for your patience and sorry for the terrible delay.


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